In the Name of the Fang
by RadiantHero
Summary: A collection of drabbles focused on the Black Fang; some will be canon based, others divergent to canon, with a few AUs tossed in for good measure. I'm literally just going off of a daily word prompt to write these, so there's no guarantee where any one update will go. I just love this weird family, and I want to create some content for them.
1. Last Breath

The battle at the Shrine of Seals was long and bitter. While the Black Fang had mostly been decimated at this point, it had been a massive organization with hundreds of members; this last battle between the two forces had brought the remaining loyalists of the Fang out en masse. There were still more than enough left of the shadowy group to make it a challenge for the Lycians to get through in order to reach the shrine.

The Lycians had split up in two directions. A small faction of their man power went east, led by Lord Hector. Their goal was to choke off the reinforcements that were streaming down from the mountain forts in that area. Once they had those forts under control, they were to meet up with the main force at the Shrine of Seals.

The other, larger group went northwest to make a direct assault on the final Four Fang that was holed up in the shrine. Nino had begged both Lord Eliwood and Lady Lyn to allow her to go with the main group, even beseeching the army's tactician to let her join the others heading for the shrine. With the assurance of Legault - and, to a lesser degree, Jaffar - that Nino would be under their protection, the two lords agreed to her request.

While everyone fought their way through the horde of Black Fang, the three defected Fang members slipped between pockets of fighting to get to the shrine. There were only two swordsman guarding the entrance at the top of the stairs, and they were easily dispatched by the two assassins.

That left only one in the shrine itself.

Linus Reed paced like a wild thing caught in a cage, sword at the ready and muscles twitching with anticipation for the fight that had come to him. He hardly seemed to care anything for the men that collapsed at the steps in a steadily growing pool of blood, their throats slit by expert hands and blades. No, his eyes were drawn first to green hair, familiar features facing off with him in a way that was starkly undeniable for anything else but what it was.

 ** _Betrayal._**

Wild, ferocious anger swept over his face, upper lip curled in a sharp-toothed snarl. " _No_!" he shouted, an amalgamation of some sort of hurt and an explosive rage as he leveled his blade at the girl he had called sister. "How _dare_ you side with them! After everything they've done, all the evil they've caused, **_everything they have taken from us_** _-_ you choose them over family?"

Nino looked close to tears, the corner of her lip wobbling in an effort to keep up a brave face. Jaffar had instantly stepped in front of the girl at the Mad Dog's reaction, ever the silent protector. Legault lingered off to the side, taking in the situation as coolly as he could.

This only served to agitate Linus further.

Manic eyes snapped to the Angel of Death, Linus slashed his blade in the other man's direction, a burst of light magic sizzling across Jaffar's forearm as he defended himself against the attack. "Jaffar, you traitorous scum! Repent your sins, dog, I'll bring the Fang's justice down on you with all the strength I have!"

Nino cried out in alarm, reaching for her tome hesitantly, but Legault stepped in before she could do anything. If he could prevent sibling from harming sibling here, he would - especially where Nino was involved. Dashing forward, he knocked the younger man's sword to the side, keeping it trapped beneath his own blade and the stone their boots. "Hello...Linus," he greeted with an air of casual conversation, getting closer to Linus than he particularly cared for given his state of mind.

Recognition and surprise flashed for a moment in those brown eyes Legault had known for so long, but it lasted only a moment. That uncontrollable anger surged back from the depths, and Linus used his shield to push the ex-Fang member away, easily overpowering Legault to free his sword. "Legault, you-! You disloyal filth! You, of all people, siding with these bastards?! You, who was by my father's side for so long, from the very beginning?!"

He seemed distracted from going on the assault, at least for the time being.

Legault took several steps back, close enough to speak with Linus, but far enough away to make a quick escape should he get violent again. Linus had always been fast to anger, to lashing out, but even this seemed...amplified. Legault couldn't entirely blame him for how he was acting; the Reed brothers were close, practically a package deal, and he could only imagine what it had been like to find out about Lloyd's death. "Linus, calm down. Your...Lloyd's murder...it wasn't by our hands," Legault tried to reason with the Mad Dog, his speech unceremoniously cut off when Linus took a wild swing at him. The ex-Fang member narrowly side-stepped the blade with a shout.

"Draw your sword, you whimpering coward! Fight me like a man! I promise you this, I will _not miss again_."

The words held a chilling finality, and the assassin didn't doubt the truth of them.

"I knew this would happen, and yet...here I am. Couldn't leave well enough, not when it came to you Reeds. Sentimentality is for fools...," Legault muttered to himself, and though he knew this had always been the most likely outcome, old memories had encouraged him to try anyways. Memories of the old Fang, the makeshift family of misfits they'd been for so long before Nergal had come into the picture and poisoned everything. The pride and ideals that Brendan lived, breathed, _fought for_. Watching both of the Reed brothers grow into their own, from boys with training swords to men wielding true weapons. Uhai sharing tales of his native Sacae and his tribe, using fire-cast shadows to aid in his stories as they all tried to keep warm in Bern's winters.

It had all been so strangely wonderful, something good and right that Legault never hoped to have in his life before Brendan offered him a place in the Black Fang.

How quickly had it all been ripped apart and tossed to the winds?

"Brother, please-" Nino was trying to fight out of Jaffar's hold, desperation clear in her voice, her eyes.

Legault let out a resigned sigh, bringing his sword up once more to meet the Mad Dog in battle.

"No!" Nino shouted, pulling away from Jaffar to run up to the two fighters. "Linus, stop, please...Please, listen to me!" She was trying so hard, clutching at the last, broken pieces of her family; holding on to the hope that if she just said the right words, her brother would understand - would join them , and fight the real enemy here.

But, now that she was standing before him, she was _frightened_ of her brother. He'd never looked at her like this before, eyes crazed and teeth bared in an ugly snarl.

"I will kill _all_ who aid my brother's killers...Nino, that includes you!" Linus hissed out, launching himself at the young girl.

The blow would have struck its mark, but Jaffar was quick to bodily remove her from Linus' path of attack, and his sword hit nothing but stone. As the silent assassin moved, so did Legault, his blade aimed for the Mad Dog's back. Linus was not taken off guard, though, and pivoted to face the former Fang member; Legault's sword hit Linus' shield, metal biting into wood before it was pulled back swiftly. They danced around each other in exchanging offense, back and forth, metal ringing off the walls of the shrine.

But then, Linus managed to get the upper hand, copying the same tactic Legault himself had used at the beginning of all this. He trapped the other man's weapon beneath his own, Linus roaring as he brought the edge of his shield down on the sword just short of the hilt, snapping the weakened metal in two. Legault swore, slashing up with the jagged remains of his weapon, carving a bloody line over Linus' face. The Mad Dog howled in pain, shield slipping from his grasp as he clutched a hand over the left side of his face, blood streaming from the wound.

This bought Legault enough time to retreat, discarding the now useless hilt of his sword in favor of his dagger.

" _Grah_...Bastard-!" Linus growled out, recovering fast in spite of the injury. Blood coated half of his face, his left eye ruined and blind, blood weeping from it like tears.

Legault couldn't help noting how the wound likened Linus even more to his father.

Linus made to charge forward in assault once more, but Jaffar appeared behind him like a specter, his wicked dagger slicing into the man's leg, severing muscles in order to hamstring the Mad Dog. The last of the Black Fang stumbled in his attack, choking out a harsh noise, something between pain and frustration that his body was starting to fail him. With his balance lost, and Linus now unable to catch himself on a lame leg, Legault took advantage of the opportunity the Angel of Death had given him.

His dagger plunged in expertly, buried in to the hilt with the aid of Linus' own momentum. Legault staggered under the sudden weight as Linus fell into him, a foot shifting back to maintain his footing. He could hear the younger man's sword clatter and skid across the floor, fingers losing their hold on the weapon. He could hear the man's breathing in his ear - wheezing, rasping, layered wetly with blood.

Still, not quite gone yet. Of course not, stubborn boy that he was.

"You...You make sure...she doesn't fuckin' cry...'bout me. Let 'er hate me...got that?" Linus spoke up, voice tired and heavy, words a struggle to force out past bloody lips. "Shouldn't cry...over...over a...lousy ass brother...like me."

Legault's eyes drifted over to Nino, who was awkwardly clinging onto Jaffar's arm, tears already being shed, and merely nodded at the request. It was something he couldn't uphold, nor did he have any intention to try, but what was one lie to a man who was steadily slipping away into death? Legault understood the intent behind it, at least, as misguided as it was.

Linus' weight only seemed to get heavier the longer they stood there, and Legault realized it was because the younger man couldn't even support himself on his one good leg, and was leaning against his support completely to remain upright at all. Legault shifted an arm around him; he could give the Mad Dog this in his final moments, let him stay standing to the last.

"Ha, looks like I've...lost. Just wanted...wanted...," Linus whispered, trailing off as the light in his eyes started to dim. He had enough strength left in him to raise an arm, fingers digging into the material at the back of Legault's cloak like a scared child would do to their mother's skirts for reassurance. Legault narrowed his eyes, willing himself to remain in control of his stoicism. But, he allowed himself this one, last weakness, bringing his hand up to rest at the back of Linus' head, fingers brushing through short hair in an attempt to be comforting in the man's last moments.

A garbled chuckle left the Mad Dog, blood coughing up onto Legault's shoulder. "Feels good...Gotta go now, though, Lloyd's...Lloyd's waitin'...He's waiting, he's wai...waitin' fo' me...Sorry, brother...'m tired, can't...keep up...wait for me, Lloyd...," he breathed out his last, no longer even speaking to Legault as his end came.

The grip on the back of his cloak went limp, and Legault slowly lowered Linus' body to the stone floor.

He'd watched this boy grow up into a young man, full of loyalty and brash ideals. A boy he could still remember roughhousing with his soft spoken brother, a boy that you could hear laughing in the halls no matter where you were in the Black Fang's keep, a boy that had been surprisingly gentle with a little girl that had been introduced to him as sister despite them not sharing any blood. The Reed brothers had been good, noble men, but Nergal's corrupted touch had led even them to their downfall.

Legault removed his dagger from the corpse before Nino could make her way over on shaky legs, Jaffar taking up his place as her shadow once again now that the threat was gone.

"No...No, my brother...My brothers are...," Nino sniffed, falling to her knees beside the bloody tatters of her last family, the sound of footsteps on the stairs marking the arrival of the rest of the army.

The cogs of destiny were cruel indeed, and kept on turning no matter how you wished to alter their mechanisms.


	2. First Blood

His father had taught him swordplay as a boy, whenever Brendan had a chance to do so between his mercenary work. It had always been with blunt, scratched up wooden swords. Something harmless in the hands of a child, but still a tool for learning. He remembered it had always made him feel proud, like a noble warrior.

His little brother came along as well, a wild energy added into these sessions that was both invigorating and frustrating to deal with. Lloyd wished to learn, not blindly hit a target. He wanted to understand the movements, the footing, the ebb and flow of a duel, the honor that could be had in a fair fight. Linus wanted the rush, the excitement, the pride that came with coming out on top and forcing another into submission.

Still, they managed. Their father would teach them something new, and the boys would practice on each other like young animals play-fighting for days until they got the new technique or skill down.

Years went by as such, their life had been simple. Then mother left. And soon, they left. Wooden toys were replaced with real metal, childhood training sessions for the fun of it shifting into drills meant to harden young bodies and minds into the same biting steel they held in their hands.

 _Black Fang_. _That was their home and family now, wrapped up into one._

He was seventeen when his father first allowed him to accompany him on one of the Black Fang's important missions. What had started out as just his father and brother had grown quickly into a respectable group, their purpose was to bring justice to those who thought themselves above it – an ideology that Lloyd could understand. He had been a part of smaller operations before now, but this would be his first where he was to command a small group of men himself.

The men were not pleased to be put under the command of a boy. He did not trust them to follow his lead, but Uhai was his back up, and Lloyd new the Sacaen warrior would not jeopardize the mission just to throw a fit about such a thing.

Brendan's group were the distraction, drawing the eyes and the weapons of the guards. Lloyd's group were to sneak in with the confusion, find the nobleman and free any of the women he took as personal slaves for whatever he desired them for. Things went well as far as getting inside, but that was where the line was drawn; the men chaffed at a boy telling them what to do, and fanned out against his orders to locate the noble. Frustrated but not willing to run after them like a child, Lloyd and Uhai made their way to the servants' quarters. The man they were after was a coward, someone who preyed upon the weak who had no chance to fight back against him; there was no way he would face them head on, and Lloyd had an idea of where he might be hiding.

His hunch had been correct, as the two found the noblemen huddled with the servants, dressed in their clothes in an attempt to blend in. But he was easy to pick out, as his appearance was not in any way haggard like his servants.

The man fussed and cowered, shrieking and yapping like a frightened lapdog. He was using his servants as human shields, an overly ornate knife held in his shaky, sweaty grip as a meager last defense. Sword drawn, Lloyd circled around the man and his handful of hostages, looking for an opening with calculating eyes. The noble was jumpy, his eyes constantly darting from Lloyd to Uhai, who was subtly ushering servants out of the room as they were forced to shuffle closer to him.

As soon as the nobleman looked away towards where Uhai was removing his makeshift defense one by one, Lloyd struck.

He moved quickly, slipping between the few women left between himself and his target. He saw the whites of the man's eyes as his blade ripped through the soft flesh of his throat, blood splattering across stones as the man fell back against the wall with a gurgle. The body fell to the floor, head lolling to the side with a sickening gape of **red** at the neck, blood creeping down the front of it like a waterfall.

The job was done, Lloyd and Uhai left to report back to Brendan.

Lloyd made it halfway back to the Black Fang's base of operations before he had to pull off from the group and vomit in the woods. It had been a justified kill, but he'd never had another man's blood on his hands, soaked into his clothes and sticking to the bottoms of his boots before. He would see that man's frightened eyes in his dreams for years to come, but they would soon be joined by others.

Seeing dead men among the living simply became a part of his life after that day.

Linus, on the other hand, had been chomping at the bit to join his father and brother in battle. He was just as skilled as his brother, and even though he was three years younger, he had the stature of a fighter; a young boy easily mistaken for someone several winters older due to his size alone, the spitting image of his father. But where Brendan was calm and collected in battle, a strong but steady force of nature, Linus was young-hearted recklessness and lust for recognition.

The younger Reed brother jumped at any chance to prove his worth to his father. Where Lloyd had waited, and took more time to perfect his swordsmanship before entering the fray, Linus was all too eager to fight under Brendan's command. The other men had called him a wet behind the ears pup, but as soon as Linus was on the battlefield for the first time, that name didn't last. He flew onto the battlefield like a dog loosed from its chain, brushing past friend and foe alike to get to their target – a particularly cruel bandit that had terrorized villages in the southern mountain range for years.

He caught the man by complete surprise despite his blatant and reckless charge, the bandit not expecting what turned out to be a _boy_ to come for his head with such murderous intent in his eyes.

Their weapons clashed, just barely saving the ruffians' leader from losing his head to Linus' attack. But the man had stood his ground at the highest point in the little town that served as their battlefield, snow and frost rendering the cobblestone streets slippery, and the force behind Linus pushed them both over the tipping point. They toppled end over end, grappling with each other, too close to make any proper blows with their weapons.

They crashed into some ramshackle stable, Linus' sword knocked out of his hand as his back hit the hard ground, the bandit landing atop him. They were both dazed for a moment, before the fight came rushing back to them in the next instant.

The bandit caught Linus by the throat with a hand, powerful grip trying to squeeze the air from him. Linus scrabbled to reach his lost sword, teeth bared in angry defiance of being forced onto his back in the face of such a **pig**. The man must have lost his ax in the scuffle as well, if he was resorting to nothing but his hands. He was grinning down at the boy, thinking he had won, and Linus didn't know what pissed him off more in the moment – the fact that he was currently at this filth's mercy in his first real battle, or the fear that was starting to sink into his gut as he struggled to free himself.

 _He was not afraid! He would not die here! He was not afraid of death, and he would laugh in its face as he stared it down!_

Cold metal bit into the tips of his fingers as his hand cast about wildly for his sword, a choked laugh garbling past his lips as his hand curled around the pommel of his sword and he thrust it into the bandit's side again and again. The man screamed in shock and pain, grip on the boy's throat releasing as he tried to scramble away. Linus, however, was not letting him turn tail and run; he grabbed the front of the raider's dirty tunic, flipping their positions so that he was now pinning the bleeding man forcibly onto the ground.

Oh, the man begged. He begged and pleaded, and whimpered like the coward he truly was.

 _You're a good boy, eh? You don't really want to kill me, please, let me go – I'll change my ways. Be a good lad. Be a good lad, and let me go._

Linus grinned down at him, bruises on his neck, and told him that the Fang's justice had come for his sins. The only repenting he'd be doing was in death. He watched the man's eyes go wide, and then he plunged his sword into the man's chest, down to the very cobblestones beneath them. He stands, and removes his blade from the filth at his feet. He stares at the blood on the steel of his blade for a good moment, curiously running his fingers through the red as he listens to the far off sounds of the others fighting up the hill.

He smears the blood between the pads of his fingers, running them down his face from forehead to chin, leaving behind a trail of gore as his smile widens.

 _What a rush a tangle with death was…_

He came out of that battle with multiple kills under his belt, covered head to toe in his foe's blood.


	3. Feasting Crows

"You know what I hate about people?"

He wasn't really speaking to anyone, there was no one to talk to. Not anyone that could talk back, at least. There was nothing but himself, and the dead, here – and the crows, oh, the crows were everywhere, too. Black and red, black and red, spattered all about the white of the snow that layered the land. It was all monochrome, black on white, with vivid splashes of red and diluted pink. Even the sky was devoid of color; a gray, gray, dull world.

"People are greedy. Always want more than they have. Nothing's ever enough for them. It's always gotta be more, gotta have what someone else owns, gotta take from others instead of earnin' it themselves. People are greedy."

The crows were having a feast. They knew a slaughter before it even happened. They flocked to the scent of **threat** , circled when blood mixed with dirt. They tore at cooling flesh, beaks dipping into wounds to swallow down soft innards, like they were a choice treat to be eaten before everything else laid out at this bloody feast. They spoke to each other, garbled voices with no words. Wing beats and talons that shuffled through the snow.

Greedy. Gluttonous. They feasted on the demise of others, just like people did.

"Selfish bastards, all of 'em. It's so easy to choose the wrong path. Why work hard when you can just slit another man's throat, take his money and fuck his woman 'til she wishes she were dead? Why bother trying? It's much easier to just take. No one wants to bother. Lazy, selfish fuckers," he spat, twisting his blade into the corpse he was crouched beside, the thick squelch of flesh and blood making way for his anger doing little to actually quell the emotion.

It wasn't very satisfying to extract punishment from corpses. The dead learn nothing more. People would rather die in their sinning ways than repent their wrongs, and live with the consequences.

It was disgusting. Why were people so… **disappointing**?

"Look where your sins got you. Was it worth it? Flex your power over those already weaker. Abuse your standing to step all over those that already struggle to crawl at your feet. Coulda reached a hand out to help, but you chose to reach out and take. Take away their few possessions, their dignity, their lives. You pillage, you murder, you rape – but you are called noble, lord. There is nothing noble about you. Nothing lordly. You are a pig in fine clothes and jewels, painted to look like something it is not."

Brown eyes drift to broken features, bone and blood destroying the man's visage. "I can still smell your sins, you filth. You stink of illness, of the disease that is greed and gluttony and evil. You're dead, but your sickness and your stench still linger in this world. Your kind don't deserve redemption. I hope you **burn**. I hope you burn away into **nothingness**. Your very memory is a poison, and it should be cleansed from the world entirely."

He stands, and withdraws his blade.

There was nothing left here but the filthy scraps of humanity, and it may as well serve the purpose of feeding the beasts before it rots away into the earth's undiscriminating embrace.

Let the crows have their feast.


End file.
